


The Intricacy of Alchemy

by kageillusionz



Category: X-Men: Days of Future Past (2014) - Fandom, X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Alchemy, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Anal Sex, Dark!Charles, Dubious Consent, First Time, M/M, Magic, Rimming, Somnophilia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-30
Updated: 2015-08-30
Packaged: 2018-04-18 02:37:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,360
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4689293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kageillusionz/pseuds/kageillusionz
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Grand Alchemist of the Realm is set upon the path of revenge ever since the death of his lover. With a golem of his own creation as his only companion, his quest brings him to a little inn called The Three-Headed Stag on the outskirts of Espheria.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Intricacy of Alchemy

**Author's Note:**

  * For [professor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Masterpiece](https://archiveofourown.org/works/506407) by [professor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/professor/pseuds/professor). 



> **Warning** : There is **Dub-Con** as is the nature of things where Somnophilia is involved.

The beer hall of the infamous Three-Headed Stag Inn is filled to the brim with patrons trading away sobriety and reason for a night in the company of sublime pleasure. There is a simple four man band in the corner playing ditties in counterpoint to the raucous laughter of stablehands and serving girls, and the conspiratorial whispers that linger in the fire-warmed corners that complement the thieves that lurk in the shadows, plotting.

The innkeeper is pleased by the flow of gold, surveying the hall with a watchful eye as he gathers an armful of dry mugs. A well-timed thunderstorm raging with nature’s fury only serves to encourage his customers to stay; the longer they remain dry and drunk under his roof, the easier they are to part with coin.

A loud whistle breaks into his thoughts and the innkeeper’s attention hones in to the table by the fire, acknowledging the order for another round of mead. Yes, the terrible storm is doing well to line his coffers tonight. One of the serving girls picks up the tray laden with alcohol, and sashays to the table without spilling a drop as she had been taught to.

He is refilling a large tankard when the front door opens with a loud bang, creaky old hinges screeching the entire way. The wind howls inside, drenching the unlucky ones by the door. In the doorway stands a figure of monstrous proportions, clad top to toe in darksteel armour glistening from the rain. There is an intimidating broadsword strapped on its back, its handle glinting dangerously in the candlelight.

The music stops abruptly, filling the damp hall with silence. Those with a sense of self-preservation are halfway out of their seats. There are none around these parts of Espheria that possess undamaged darksteel armour unless they are a part of the law. And this mountain of a man — if it were a man — would look right at home as part of the Vanguard.

Everyone watches closely as it shambles towards the counter, past the long tables full of wide-eyed spectators. The closer it walks into the golden light, the more uncomfortable the innkeeper feels about this entire ordeal. It has limbs thicker than tree trunks, and its eyes glow an ominous red underneath its helmet. With each step, he is aware that he is unable to refuse it anything, lest it proves that dangerous broadsword is not just for decoration; he is quite attached to his head where it is.

So concerned the innkeeper is about his own safety that he almost does not notice that it is carrying something in its arms: a limp body wrapped in a cloak shiny from rain. He can make out the pale curve of a foot and an ankle, but everything else is obscured.

“One room.” It speaks slowly as if it is a child who has not mastered the full use of syllables.

A long moment passes, and the innkeeper swallows thickly around the lump in his throat. “P-Pardon?”

A hand moves to tug the heavy pouch that is tied to its belt free and drops it unceremoniously onto the counter with a heavy thunk. “One room.”

There is enough coin inside the pouch to last them through several winters, the innkeeper can tell from the quality of the sound. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, the innkeeper sends one of the serving girls to fetch his wife and another to close the doors.

“Please f-follow me,” she says with a shaky smile, removing a key from behind the counter and motions for the Vanguard to follow her through the foyer and up the stairs towards the sleeping quarters. Only once the pair has turned the corner does the music begin again, the furious buzzing of conversation and wild conjecture washing through the room like wild fire.

She unlocks the door at the far end with an unsteady hand, holding the door open for the Vanguard to enter. Against the wall furthest from the doorway is a metal bed frame that has seen better days, and at the foot of the bed is a copper chamberpot and a washbasin already filled with water. She hastens to start a fire, carefully stoking it until it crackles merrily in the hearth that takes up the last bit of wall space.

“Will you be requiring a doctor for your…” she asks, wringing her hands as the Vanguard lays out the body on the bed; it is impossible to tell the gender of the body. She settles lamely with, “companion?”

After a moment of consideration, the helmet turns towards her and regards her solemnly before saying, “That will not be necessary.”

She is about to say more, but it slowly advances, herding her towards the exit. “Let me know if you need anything else,” she says with a curt nod, and turns on her heel before the door can be slammed in her face.

Once the innkeeper’s wife has retreated down the stairs, the golem returns to the bedside. Carefully, it out turns the cloak, revealing the naked figure of a man within. With the utmost care, it rearranges pale limbs underneath thin sheets and hangs the cloak up by the fire to dry. Slowly, piece by piece, the golem’s armour joins the cloak in the corner and then moves to stand by the window to keep guard.

There is nothing to see outside — the stars having long been obscured by dark thunderous clouds — but the occasional flash of lightning reveals that this sleepy little village holds little threat to the man on the bed.

For now.

* * *

Sometime during the dead of the night, when the last drunk has stumbled on home and the innkeeper and his wife had retired for the night, did the room suddenly fill with an ethereal electric blue light. The golem twitches from its position by the window and turns to face the bed.

Its summoner has finally awoken, eyes shining with unbridled power and focussing on the golem like he can see straight into the very heart and core of its being.

“Master,” the golem speaks, voice cracking around the edges like the scratch of gravel on glass, and crouches by the bedside. “You are awake.”

The summoner hums distractedly, rising into a sitting position and pushes wet hair off his face with a careless hand. The blue glow slowly recedes with each blink until the inside of the room is the same as the outside. “How long this time?”

“Between the town of Frajiyr and the Marishk Sea, Master.”

“Too long then,” the summoner replies, tilting his head towards the window as if in search of something like a dog with a scent. The golem has long since gotten used to the man’s… eccentricities. It tries not to fidget when a scant moment later, the summoner trains his gaze back onto his creation and scrutinizes carefully every crack and wound it had accumulated in his absence.

“Look at the state of you, Erik. You’re coming apart at the seams,” he tsks, taking Erik’s arm in hand and tracing a crack’s path from elbow to wrist with a cool delicate finger.

Erik shakes its head. “It is but a scratch.” Flesh wounds are worrisome because of the possibility of bleeding out to the normal man. But Erik is no man, and flesh wounds leave nothing but deep gouges and lines of darkness over its skin. “There is nothing to be done about it.”

What is worrisome to Erik is the time that it takes for its Master to recuperate after expending his mana reserves. With each successive battle on his path for revenge, what once took a matter of hours, now takes days. All too soon, Erik fears the regenerative process will become weeks and then months. The cycle cannot continue for much longer; it will kill its summoner before long, and that is something Erik cannot fathom happening.

His summoner chuckles, a dry humourless sound as he continues stroking Erik’s arm. “My dear, there is always something to be done.”  He feeds a gentle pulse of magic through his fingers and the crack knits itself seamlessly back together, releasing the appendage for Erik’s own appraisal.

Erik stares agape, blinking in wonder, at the smooth unperforated skin. “How…?”

“I am a man of many hidden talents,” he says simply, reaching out with a hand to caress Erik’s cheek and coax him upwards onto his knees. He licks his lips, an action that Erik cannot draw its eyes away from, and then he dips down to bridge the gap between their mouths. The hand that had been caressing his cheek now sneaking around to cup Erik’s nape, pulling him closer still.

Erik has never kissed a living creature, but this, this is exquisite. His mouth is soft, warm with lifeblood that hums underneath red lips. His tongue is masterful, possessive, sliding in between lips that require no further coaxing as it licks in and claims.

Erik whimpers a moment later when his master retreats, strong fingers pinching and angling Erik’s head back to reveal the long delicate line of its throat.

He dips down, placing a litany of butterfly kisses over Erik’s skin. “Who do you belong to?”

“Master, please…” What is there to say? Why does his Master ask a question that he already knows the answer to? And what is the strange sensation in his belly, the one that stirs beside the beast that can do nothing but obey his Master’s command?

His summoner’s eyes flash dangerously, fingers digging unforgivingly into Erik’s neck. It sends a shiver of mortification down Erik’s spine. “My name, Erik.”

“Charles… M-Master Charles,” Erik gasps, scrabbling against Charles’ hold when it becomes too much, when it begins to hurt. “N-No, please… this isn’t...”

“Shh,” Charles coos, voice deceptively gentle. Erik stills in its struggle, eyes wide as Charles’ hand descends over its face, running fingers gently over the back of its eyelids to close them. “It is time I let you rest and fix you.”

The protest fails to make it past its lips. Erik slumps forward, head bowed in submission to its master; then he knows no more as he succumbs to the transference.

* * *

Charles is almost glad that the journey between Frajiyr and the Mariskh Sea had been uneventful. From Erik’s body, he can tell that it had not been the easiest to make. Although he had fitted Erik with the best darksteel armour transmutation could create, that did not make his golem immune to damage.

He itches for battle now that he is recuperated, pent up energy requiring some sort of outlet now that Erik’s wounds have been taken care of. Charles props his head up onto one hand and leans over the side of the bed to survey the body in repose on the floor. For every line and plane of Erik’s beautiful features had been lovingly recreated from the one Charles kept hidden away deep in his memories.

Yes, Charles thinks, unabashedly looking his fill and licking his lips in memory, this body is one that he knows intimately. There’s the scar across Erik’s lip gained through a training accident, the burn marks on his upper arm from his trail as a page, and a smattering of freckles from all the hours under the sun. A labyrinth of white lines marr Erik’s abdomen and back, all gained in the line of duty when he rose through the ranks of the Vanguard easy like a spring breeze to become Commander.

Now that had been a proud moment for them both, one that they had celebrated all night long by making love in the Commander’s new quarters underneath the moonlight. Just the thought of that night is enough to stir Charles’ cock to life.

To be sure, most summoners do away with sentiment and genitalia when creating a golem for whatever nefarious purpose. But Charles would not have embarked on such an arduous journey were it not for his attachment to said sentiments such as love. And this Erik will never be, could never replace the man, but he is as close an imitation as Charles could make him.

Humming quietly to himself, Charles curls the fingers of his free hand and coaxes the air currents in the room to do his bidding. Erik levitates upwards, up and over Charles, until he settles onto a mattress hardly big enough to fit one man let alone two between the wall and a hard place.

Charles rubs a thumb over Erik’s collarbone, savouring every reaction as he trails the hand further down to flick and rub at Erik’s nipple. There is no telling how long it will take for Erik to regain consciousness, but Charles is going stir crazy and if he cannot release it sexually, then he may be tempted to level this damned town. Erik will surely forgive him for his restraint.

But which part to sample first? Charles taps his bottom lip in contemplation. A simple kiss, perhaps. He struggles a little until Erik is in the middle of the bed — he makes a mental note to make a lighter golem next time he requires a vessel for the love of his life’s soul — and straddles Erik, leaning down until they are face to face, their noses brushing.

Erik’s lips are warm when Charles kisses him, warm and wet but wholly unresponsive. Pouting a little to himself when true love’s first kiss leaves a lot to be desired, he sets to trying true love’s first kiss elsewhere like Erik’s neck, collarbones, nipples, and then cock.

“The body is the more honest,” Charles mutters in amusement as Erik’s flagging cock rises to the occasion. He has other plans for Erik’s cock later, one that he hopes Erik will be awake to enjoy as well.

Rubbing a hand over Erik’s knee, he brings one leg up to Erik’s chest and then the other. Charles had never really given much thought about the anatomy of golems right up until this point. “Clearly, my attention to detail is impeccable,” Charles comments with a laugh, casting aside any thoughts about what exactly a golem would do with human parts, and instead congratulating himself for such excellent foresight.

Settling into a more comfortable position on his knees, Charles hikes Erik’s legs over his shoulder and brings his face down to nuzzle at Erik’s balls, his tongue darting out to lave attention at the soft skin there. The scent and taste is off, not unpleasant or overpowering. Over the crackle of the fire, he ventures further, parting Erik’s cheeks and exposing the hole. He drags his tongue over the sphincter muscles and Erik’s perineum, watching in fascination as it shrinks in within itself. Charles doesn’t stop, his tongue flicking back and forth. Not until his chin is wet with spit, his jaw begins to hurt and his cock impossibly hard.

And who is he to deny his own body the desires and sins of the flesh?

* * *

Erik is floating high above the clouds. Or rather he feels like he is. His body feels amazingly light and good, so very good. And is that not an interesting thought? The aches and creaks are all gone, and Erik feels almost human. Almost.

“Are you awake, pet?” someone purrs into his ear.

“Mm,” Erik answers, feeling loose-limbed in a way that he has not felt since before the elimination of the Probello family back in Frajiyr. “What did you do to me?”

There is a low chuckle and then the soft press of lips just above his ear. His Master had often been… affectionate. “Fixed you up… amongst other things.” Charles punctuates his words with a thrust, and Erik gasps feeling something slide inside of him.

“What…?”

“Open your eyes, Erik,” Charles coaxes gently, and Erik does, blinking against the low light of the fire. He rises onto his elbows and looks down, a sharp intake of breath as he watches Charles smoothly enter him again and again, past the stiffness between his legs.

“Do you know what I’m doing to you?”

“I… I have watched something similar,” Erik admits, swallowing as his mouth waters and he remembers catching a young couple in coitus. “But a girl and a boy.” He grunts when Charles grinds down, whining low in his throat when Charles bites into the junction of shoulder and neck.

“Concept is the same,” Charles says, unapologetically licking at the new mark blossoming over Erik’s skin.

“Oh.”

Erik mewls when Charles wraps a hand around his erection, confusion reigning at the dual sensations. He is not sure whether he prefers the one in his arse or thrusting into his Master’s hand. He decides both is good. Whichever will make his Master happy.

And from the look of ecstasy on Charles’ face, he has made his Master happy somehow.

“Did you know,” Charles comments as if he were talking about the weather, as if he is not aware his lips are moist and a fetching shade of red. He kisses a teasing path along Erik’s jawline, “That I created your cock first?”

“No, I did not.”

“It’s true,” Charles says with an appreciative sigh and jerks his hand in time with the pistoning of his hips. It leaves Erik grasping at the bedsheets, comprehension swiftly flying out the window. “Such a lovely specimen should be preserved. In another life, were I not to have become one of Espheria’s most powerful, I would have been an excellent sculptor.”

“It would be,” Erik grunts, scrunching his eyes closed as the pleasure overrides his thoughts, “a grievous waste of your talent, Master.” He will not be able to keep up with Charles’ punishing pace much longer, the fervent slap of flesh against flesh loud and echoing around the wooden walls.

“Yes,” Charles agrees, and sounds overly fond and wistful. Sweat beads over his brow, trickling over his temple. “You are my greatest creation, Erik. Come for me”

“I—!” The rest of Erik’s sentence is lost in a moan when Charles does something clever with his hips. His vision is filled with blissful white and all of a sudden, the floating sensation dominates. Erik is only tangentially aware that Charles is slumped over him, his cock twitching inside in bursts and filling him up with something wet.

None of that really matters now because Erik feels amazing all over, and he is certain that his Master does too.

* * *

The sight of his come between Erik’s legs is particularly fetching.

Charles pushes himself up onto his hands, his soft cock regretfully slipping out. He trails his fingers into the mess, smearing it all over Erik’s inner thigh until it cools and becomes tacky. With a satisfied sigh, he makes the short trip to the washbasin and returns with some water to clean up Erik as best as he can.

For now, he has tamed the beast inside. No longer does his eyes shine with an eerie glow that marks him as a powerful Alchemist. He will be passable as a civilian once they procure him a set of travelling clothes, his last set having burnt along with the Probello family.

“We will need to get you something to wear,” Erik says sensibly, putting Charles’ thoughts into words. He loops a lazy arm around Charles’ middle and snuggles in close to nuzzle at Charles’ hip like an affectionate kitten. “And horses too. But later.” Who would have thought golems would become drowsy after sex?

Charles indulges in the feel of soft lips over his hip until he can no longer resist sliding in beside Erik once more, leaning into his solid embrace. “That will be wise if we are to reach the foothills of the Angnar Mountains.”

“We should probably make haste if we are to make it before the rise of the Blood Moon,” Erik murmurs, eyes already drifting closed.

Charles plucks the cloak and blanket from the end of the bed and throws it over their cooling bodies. “Let us make haste a little later, Erik,” he says before dozing off himself.

“Yes, Master.”

**Author's Note:**

> My thanks go to **A, R, S and S** for their swift betaing and endless cheerleading. This work would not be half as good without them.


End file.
